Final Report
by johnsarmylady
Summary: Sherlock decides to put John's powers of observation and medical knowledge to the test. Especially for my dear friend MapleleafCameo. Rated M - paranoia strikes again!


**Written for my dearest MapleleafCameo, who has been my rock, and my amazing friend - a little incentive for you!  
Disclaimer: Sherlock and John do not belong to me, that honour belongs to ACD, SM and MG - Drat!**

John studied the body, his trained eyes noting the many injuries, mostly well healed, the scars faint but traceable.

"Starting at the top," he said clearly, "there are two scars just under the right scapula, one much deeper than the other."

"Made by?"

"I'd say a knife, but the edges look too…ah. Yes, I see it now, this happened when the body crashed through some kind of fencing – sharp, splintered wood. There are quite a few smaller scars that bear this out"

"Excellent John," Sherlock smiled his approval "What else?"

John moved down, his fingers gently pushing the flesh, feeling vertebrae and sharp bones far too close to the surface.

"Undernourished, but otherwise fit and healthy." He paused as his flatmate snorted, allowing his eyes to move further down the body. "Good muscle tone, used to running, athletic."

Turning his attention to the lower half of the body John saw a collection of small, round scars across both calves, and he bent to look closer, his thumb moving over the uneven skin.

"Pellets?"

"Lead shot – childhood accident."

"I'd agree, definitely old scarring," he gave one last sweeping look over the body, then "Am I okay to move it?"

"Of course."

There was something about the way Sherlock said it, but John didn't allow it to distract him. With gentle hands he rolled the body onto its back.

This time he started at the feet, silently observing and diagnosing.

"There's a nick in the left tibia, fairly recent, result I'd say of cracking the shin against a wall, misjudging a jump."

"Possible."

At that John looked up and grinned at his friend.

"Yes John, possible." One elegant eyebrow was raised as if to dare the older man to argue the point.

Laying his hand against a well-muscled thigh, John measured the length of the next scar – almost six inches long, slightly jagged in places, a red ridge of scar tissue standing out against the expanse of white skin.

"This is old, and was left too long before it was cleaned and stitched, was probably infected before help was sought." There was a catch in John's voice, and an almost stricken look in his deep blue eyes.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock frowned.

"Could so easily have been fatal." John replied softly.

"But it wasn't, John."

With a brief nod, the doctor continued his examination and verbal report, moving up to the smooth, unblemished chest, sculpted and firm, the previously broken ribs leaving no visible mark.

At last he reached the final area of examination. Carefully he ran his hand around to the back of the neck, his fingers tangling in the thick, luxurious hair as he lifted the head, his own head dipping down to capture the pale lips with their ridiculously girlish cupid's bow, his tongue gently lapping at them, slipping in to taste the remnants of the dark, sweet coffee, sharing it, offering in return the taste of the tea, his own beverage of choice.

As John firmly cupped that precious head in his hand, Sherlocks arms snaked up to wrap around his lover, drawing him down onto the bed beside him, sliding his hands down the muscular back, pulling him closer, feeling the smaller man's solid ridge of erection press against his hip.

With a quick twist of his body he manoeuvred himself under John, neither man breaking the kiss, their tongues now moving together in a sensual dance.

Blindly, his movements dictated by practice, John reached for the lube bottle, coating his fingers and gently working on the man beneath him, making swift work of the preparation, eager to enter him.

"_John__, yessss__!"_ the sibilant baritone caused goose bumps across every inch of John's body.

"Christ Sherlock, keep that up and I won't last."

Sherlock's only response was to sink his teeth into John's neck, moaning sensuously as he licked across the marks he'd made, gasping loudly as John thrust in harder, his oil covered hand now stroking Sherlock in time to his own thrusts.

"Please John…" his eyes rolling back in his head, Sherlock tightened himself around his lover.

"Oh God….what you do to me…"

Speech ceased, as lips met once more, and orgasm ripped through them.

Slowly, very slowly, in the aftermath of sex they melted together, limbs entwined, breathing evening out and deepening.

On the cusp of sleep, Sherlock dropped a brief kiss on the blond head resting against his shoulder.

"Well doctor, what's your final report on the examination subject? Will he live?"

"If it were up to me – forever!"


End file.
